Finally, the day came.
Goodbyes were harder the second time. Maybe because this time I knew what was waiting for me on the other side.
Rain wouldn't let go of my arm. She clung to me like I was about to vanish forever. In a way, she was right.
"I'll be back before you know it," I lied, brushing her hair out of her face. Her eyes were red from crying. She was only ten—too young to understand how cruel the Dream Realm could be. Too young to know what it meant when someone said "see you later" but couldn't promise it.
The twins, at least, tried to act tough. "You better bring us back something cool this time!" Luca said, puffing his chest out. Dante nodded fiercely beside him, like a mirror with slightly messier hair.
"I'll bring you two the ugliest rock I find," I said with a grin. They groaned in unison, and for a moment, I forgot the hunger in my veins, the flaw eating me alive. For a moment, I was just their brother again.
Mom hugged me so tight I thought my ribs would crack. Dad slapped my back once, but his eyes gave him away. They looked too much like mine when I tried not to cry.
And then I had to walk away. Again.
The academy wasn't much to look at. At least, not compared to Dracula's castle. Big stone walls, tall towers, banners of the great clans fluttering in the wind. It was impressive enough if you hadn't spent six months living in a nightmare painted with blood and shadow.
I wandered through the halls, half lost, half pretending I knew exactly where I was going.
On the way, I couldn't help running mental simulations of my options since I still hadn't decided what I wanted to do about the clans.
Yeah, the "Great Clans." Everyone talked about them like they were gods walking among us. Whole books, entire libraries, were filled with their histories, bloodlines, battles, betrayals, and victories. And everyone my age had some kind of opinion: I want to join Valor, I want to be adopted by Song, I want to prove myself to Night. Blah, blah, blah. Me? The thought made my stomach twist. Not because I didn't think I could get in—oh, no. If anything, I could probably walk into at least two of them tomorrow and they'd be tripping over themselves to brand me like cattle and call me their prodigy.
But the price? The price was my life.
Valor was the obvious one. If I told anyone at Valor that I'd unlocked my True Name inside my very first nightmare, I'd be on their recruitment posters before the day ended. They'd hand me weapons, armor, memories older than most saint's, and force-feed me glory until I choked on it. And let's be honest: I looked like one of them already. Pale skin, black hair, red eyes—if I walked through their gates tomorrow, I'd be mistaken for a long-lost cousin of Morgan Valor herself. All I was missing was the family's trademark: a stick jammed so far up my ass that I have to always use a sword as a walking stick .
Valor prided themselves on their "purity," which translated into two things: arranged marriages and massive egos. They traded sons and daughters like currency, forging alliances by blood and bed. If I joined, I'd probably end up married off to some bright-eyed Awakened with a thousand expectations hanging around her neck. Or worse—a future Master, or even a Saint. Imagine that: "Congratulations, Alucard, you've been betrothed to the savior of humanity. Smile for the crowd." My choices? None. My freedom? Gone. The idea made my fists clench.
And then there was Song. Ah, Song. Creepy bastards. Everyone whispered about them, but no one said anything too loud, because Song didn't like being gossiped about. They were obsessed with corpses, rituals, and—how do I put this delicately?—collecting women. Adoption was their favorite trick. They'd find young orphaned girls, pluck them off the streets or out of burned villages, and raise them inside their crimson halls. A feminist's dream, maybe, but also a cage painted gold. I'd heard the rumors about how they kept their "daughters" close. Always close.
The thing was, they weren't entirely heartless. People said Song genuinely cherished their adopted daughters, teaching them, protecting them, making them powerful. But what did that mean for someone like me? A boy? An outsider? An accident? Would they break tradition and let me in? Maybe. "Son of Song." That did have a nice ring to it, didn't it? Almost sounded like the title of a damn novel. But every time I pictured it, I saw myself trapped in their crimson halls, suffocated by incense and whispers, never belonging, always being watched. No, thanks.
Then, of course, there was Night. House of Night. Masters of the sea, rulers of the dark tides. Their fortress floated like some immortal leviathan, drifting from port to port. They said the waters bent to their will, that storms calmed when they raised their banners, and that no one—not pirates, not armies, not even nightmares—dared challenge their ships. To some, that sounded romantic. Adventurous. To me? Hell no. I hated boats. I hated water. I hated the idea of being trapped on a floating coffin for the rest of my life. Drowning was not high on my list of preferred deaths.
Those were the Big Three. Valor, Song, Night. Each with their own flavor of power, their own unique chains. And sure, people would kill to get in. People had killed to get in. But me? The thought of handing over every secret, every scrap of who I was, made my skin crawl. Because that was the other thing: join a Great Clan, and you didn't get to keep secrets. They'd strip me bare, demand every detail, and bind me with oaths so strong I'd never breathe without their permission.
Finding the sleeping pods had turned into an embarrassing scavenger hunt.
I'd spent fifteen minutes wandering through the halls of the academy like a lost tourist in full Shadow Knight armor. The thing about walking around in enchanted plate made of pure darkness? People stared. Hard. Every single student I stopped to ask for directions reacted like I'd sprouted horns or whispered their true name out loud. One kid even dropped his books and bolted the other way.
Great first impression.
By the time I finally found the pods, I was ready to crawl into the nearest shadow and never come out.
The chamber was dimly lit, lined with rows of sleek, upright pods like steel coffins. The one assigned to me hummed faintly, a soft mechanical heartbeat, as if it were alive. Its surface gleamed cold under my gloved fingers.
"Here we go again," I muttered.
I climbed in, trying not to think about the last time I'd done this. Oxygen hissed as the pod sealed, cool mist curling around my face. I braced myself for a slow drift into unconsciousness, the gentle slide from reality into nightmare.
Instead—snap.
One heartbeat, I was lying in the pod. The next, I was standing. Naked.
"Son of a—"
I cut myself off, shadows exploding out of me before the thought even finished. The Shadow Knight's armor surged over my skin like a living thing, locking me in its cold embrace. The enchantments sputtered instantly, drained by whatever hostile laws governed this realm, but it was enough to cover me. Barely.
My vision cleared. My stomach dropped.
I was surrounded.
Towering coral rose on every side—thick, twisting pillars like the bones of some vast creature. They branched and forked like trees, glimmering faintly in the dim red glow of the sky. Except… they weren't coral. Not really.
Each one pulsed faintly.
Each one gleamed wet.
Each one reeked of iron.
I reached out without thinking. My gauntlet brushed the surface. Sticky. Warm.
I pulled my hand back. Red streaked the black metal.
Blood.
The forest was made of blood.
I swallowed, my throat dry. "Well. That's new," I muttered, trying not to gag. Even after everything I'd seen—the corpse halls, the burnt library, Dracula's throne—I hadn't been prepared for this. A whole forest made of frozen veins and arteries, twisting up to a sky the color of dried scabs.
This was no dream. This was someone's nightmare—and now it was mine too.
Movement caught my eye.
On the ground ahead, sprawled awkwardly between two blood‑coral trunks, was a woman. Tall. Athletic. Long brown hair spilling over olive-toned shoulders. Naked.
I spun around instantly, armor creaking. "Great," I muttered under my breath. "First thing I see is a naked woman. Totally what I needed."
"Hey, creepy!"
Her voice cracked the silence, raw and rough, like she wasn't used to hearing it. It echoed weirdly in the blood forest, like the coral itself carried sound.
"What the hell are you looking at?"
I froze. Slowly, carefully, I turned back.
She'd scrambled to her feet, summoning armor that wrapped clumsily around her frame. The roll she attempted was more of an awkward flop, like her own body was foreign to her. Her movements were jerky, unbalanced. Her eyes—wide, frantic—kept darting around like a cornered animal's.
"Uh… hello?" I tried, keeping my tone light. "You okay?"
The woman jerked back at the sound of my voice. "Ahhh, a talking nightmare creature! Just my luck! Tell me I'm not in one of those cheap smut novels where the ugly monster can talk and goes down on the defenceless maiden."
I raised an eyebrow beneath the helmet. "…Wow. Rude."
Her eyes narrowed. "Wait. You're… human?"
I hesitated. Technically, no. Not anymore. Not completely. Not since Dracula. But she didn't need to know that. Not yet.
"Last time I checked," I said.
Her stance eased a fraction, though she still held herself like she was ready to bolt. "You talk like a person."
"Observant," I said dryly.
She swallowed. Her voice, when it came again, was softer. "Effie."
"Effie," I repeated, testing the name. "Nice to meet you. I'm—"
I stopped. For half a second, I almost said Sebastian. Old habits. Old ghosts.
"Alucard," I finished.
She tilted her head. "That's a weird name."
"Yours isn't exactly normal either."
"Touché," she muttered, then frowned at the blood coral around us. "Where are we?"
Not knowing the answer myself, I said, "I'm not sure."